


Photograph

by LastOneOut



Category: Trolls (2016)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Many Ideas About Troll History, Trolls Grow On Trees Theory, cannon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:55:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8611369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastOneOut/pseuds/LastOneOut
Summary: When Branch's new bunker below the Troll Tree floods, Poppy finds a way to help him cope with his past (And learns a few things about her own history while she's at it.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this includes quite a lot of speculation about the Troll's biology and history and a lot more speculation about Grandma Rosiepuff and Branch's life before her death. 
> 
> Some dark themes mentioned of course, but it's mostly fluff, believe me. 
> 
> Anyway, as always I hope you enjoy!

Poppy loved the rain.

  
Well, Poppy loved almost everything--but rain was one of her favorites. So when she had awoken to the pitter-patter of water hitting her roof, she was thrilled. She spent most of the day cozy in her house, watching the drops hit the leaves of the trees around her while she worked on one of the many scrapbooks she had lying around. Her friends managed to drag her out for about an hour to enjoy an impromptu ‘singing-in-the-rain’ party, but she was quick to retreat home as soon as the cold started to seep in.

  
She managed to finish a particular scrapbook that was for Branch, and after a quick dinner and a final look at the rain she went to bed, hoping that the weather would clear in the morning so that she could take Branch his gift.

  
She was pleased to find the sky clear when she awoke. With a smile, she grabbed Branch’s gift and dashed down to his house. The dew was just starting to clear and the air was warm, so she let herself daydream a bit while she walked. She imagined Brach’s face when he got his gift, how he would blush, still unaccustomed to affection from others. She would laugh and make fun of him a bit, and then they would spend the day together, maybe even sing, if he was in the mood. (He still needed to be in the mood to sing, something that didn’t make much sense to her, but the rarity of the moments made them all the more special when they did come.)

  
But, as she came to a stop in front of his new home--a bunker, of course, dug directly into the roots of the tree--she dropped his gift and gasped.

  
The dirt around what used to be his entryway was more mud than anything, and his belongings were scattered around the area, soaking wet. The door itself was lying a few feet away, its supports having been washed away, and she could hear sloshing and cursing from the hole where it used to be.

  
She ran up to the gap, nearly slipping in the mud as she stepped around the piles of soggy books and clothes that Branch had already salvaged. “Branch! Branch are you okay!?” She called.

  
“Where is it?” She heard him mumble, so she turned and tossed her crown near one of the piles. She gave the muddy water a distasteful glance before jumping in, grimacing as she sunk in past her hips. Trying to ignore the cold, she sloshed over to Branch and put her hand on his shoulder. He was soaked from head to toe, his hair a frizzy, muddy mess.  
  
“Branch?” She asked quietly.

  
“Not now, Poppy.” He said, shaking her off. “I have to find it...” He muttered more to himself than her, continuing his search.

  
“What are you looking for? I can help.”

  
He groaned, clearly frustrated, “It’s a book, a picture album. It was by my bed I’m sure of it...”

  
“Okay. I’ll check over here.” He nodded absentmindedly, so she got to work.

  
They both searched for longer than Poppy cared to keep track of, at least two hug times passing completely ignored as they tossed item after item out of the hole, seemingly no closer to finding the album. She didn’t talk or sing; Branch seemed upset enough already, so she lost herself in thought.

  
She marveled at how much stuff Branch had managed to hide away in his house (the word hoarder came to mind) but she tried not to judge. ‘Everyone has their thing that made them happy,’ she thought, and Branch just liked to keep things. Lots of things. Too many things.  
At last, Branch jumped up, splashing mud everywhere as the pulled a soggy book from the water. “I found it!”

  
Poppy gasped, “Yes!”

  
She followed him as he scrambled up what used to the staircase, running to his side as he laid the book out in the sun. He gently flipped through the soggy pages, still grumbling under his breath as he took in the ruined notes and diagrams.

  
“Oh...no...” He stopped, seeming to find whatever he was looking for. “No....” He ran his fingers over an old picture, pulling his hand back when even the light touch caused the color to blur. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, sitting back on his heels. Poppy sat next to him, lowering her gaze.

  
“Oh, Branch...I’m sorry...What was the picture of?”

  
He didn't answer for a moment, taking a deep breath and rubbing some of the mud off of his face. “It..It was of my grandma...it was the only picture I had of her, and now it’s ruined.”

  
He almost looked like he might cry, but before he could he shook his head and stood suddenly, “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

  
“But Branc--”

  
“I said it’s fine. I have to get the rest of my stuff.” He didn’t wait for a reply, turning and trudging back to his bunker. She knew enough about him to know that he wouldn’t talk about it, even if she prodded him. She doubted he’d even want her around, several memories of him snapping at her coming to mind. She never quite understood it, but Branch always liked to be alone when he was upset, at least at first. She had learned to give him space until he was ready to talk.

  
Her gaze fell back to the ruined picture. She reached down, carefully detaching it from the rest of the book. She had an idea, and knew just the troll to talk to. Taking one last look at Branch, she stopped to pick up his gift and her crown before walking away.

 

* * *

 

Biggie sighed, looking at the picture. “I don’t know Poppy. This is pretty bad.”

  
“Please, Biggie,” She begged, her eyes big, “this is really important. No one’s better with pictures than you! There has to be a way to save it.”

  
He sighed again, before nodding. “I’ll give it my best, but I can’t make any promises.”

  
“Oh, thank you!!” She jumped up and hugged him. He laughed, returning the hug before putting her down. “Don’t thank me yet.”

  
“I’m sure you’ll do fine. Anyway!" She said in a rush, "I have some other errands to run, I’ll be back later, ‘kay?” 

  
“Ok, good luck, Poppy.” 

  
“You too!”

 

* * *

 

 

Poppy’s next stop led her to her father’s pod. She hadn’t lived with him since the move back to the tree, but she still spent more than a fair share of her time at his home. The former king had taken up several hobbies in his retirement, and Poppy loved joining him when she had the time, the pair talking and reminiscing, and mulling over any queenly problems Poppy had.

  
“Dad, are you here?” She called, grinning when she saw him sitting at a table gazing intently at a puzzle box.

  
“Poppy! You’re right on time. I just started working on a new puzzle. This one’s a real head-scratcher.”

  
“Actually,” She said quickly, “I’m in a bit of a hurry today...I need a favor.”

  
“Well, whatever it is, I’m here to help.”

  
“Do you have any old pictures? Like from before we escaped?”

  
“What brings this on?”

  
“It’s...for a friend.”

  
“I see...” He stood, grabbing his cane and a flashlight from beneath the table. “Here, follow me.”

  
“...Okay?” Poppy trailed after her father, following him down the steps that led into one of the many tunnels dug into the tree by their ancestors. “I was going to show this to you once we were settled a bit longer, but I suppose now is as good a time as any.”

  
“Show me what?” She asked, curiously eyeing the walls of the tunnel. There were hundreds of carved, elegant designs, seeming to dance in the glow of the flashlight. She had never seen anything like them before. Trolls young and old dancing and singing, surrounded by leaves and pods and everything that made the trolls who they were.

  
“Wow...” She whispered.

  
“You see, Poppy, our people have lived in this tree for as long as anyone can remember--long, long before the Bergens found it and built their town around it. We are connected to this place in ways even I hardly understand. Why do you think that the tree withered without us and only came back to life when we returned?”

  
“I knew it was special but I didn’t realize...”

  
“This tree is part of us. Even you. You were born here, you know. Your bud bloomed on the very same bough that has grown every past generation of our family.”

  
“Really?” She asked, her voice airy with wonder. She knew that trolls grew on trees, but it had never occurred to her that she had come from this tree. She found herself wondering which branch it was. Her father would surely show her. After all, it was where her children would be born too.

  
He nodded. “Had we not come back, your children would have been the first to come from other trees. It would have been a shame, but it’s not as important as not getting eaten.” He laughed, and she nodded for him to continue.

  
“Anyway, when we escaped, we had to leave hastily, and we could take only what we could carry. We left centuries of Troll history here. The night before we left, I had every item that we would have to leave, every piece of our history, hidden here, deep in the tree. I never imagined we would be able to come back for it, but I couldn’t stand to leave it all to be destroyed.” He stopped suddenly, coming to a large door. “I hid it all, right here.”

  
He pulled a key from his hair. It was old and wooden, the grain matching perfectly with the tree’s. He unlocked the door, pulling it open and revealing shelves of books, albums and boxes, all piled high.

  
She gasped. “You have pictures!?”

  
“Yes, I do. Pictures and scrapbooks and trinkets. Everything. Our entire history.”

  
Poppy jumped up and down. “This is so exciting! Oh my gosh, we can show everyone; we can bring back all of the culture that we lost--everything!”

  
“Yes, we can,” he said with a smile. “But, first, what exactly are you looking for? Pictures you said--but of who?”

  
She blushed slightly. “Branch’s family. Specifically his grandmother.”

  
He gave her a knowing smile. “For Branch, huh?”

  
“Oh my gosh, Dad, stop!” She blushed harder. “His bunker flooded, and he lost a lot of his stuff, including the only picture he had of his grandma. I was just hoping I could replace it.” She looked around, trying to change the subject. “So, do you have anything from her in here?”

  
“In fact, I do.” He handed her the light, and she held it steady while he walked past the shelves, brushing off years of dust, eying labels and names. “Now, I tried to be careful organizing this, but I only had so much time...if I remember it should be...Ah, yes, here we go.” He pulled a large box off a high shelf, placing it in front of her.

  
“Rosiepuff ran a daycare. She helped take care of the kids who lost parents to Trollstice. She had quite the way with children. More than a few of our older trolls remember her fondly. Branch never told us the full story of what happened to her...but, it wasn’t hard to figure out. Trolls hardly died any other way back then...” Peppy’s eyes grew clouded, his hands began to shake.

  
“...Dad?”

  
“I’m grateful, Poppy, that you never had to know the horror of living like that.”

  
She leaned over and hugged him tightly. “And, now, no one ever will, thanks to you, Dad.”

  
He returned her hug, “And you, Poppy. I’m so proud of you, you know.”

  
“I know, Dad.” When they pulled apart, neither’s eyes were dry, but they smiled, turning back to the box.

  
“I don’t have much from Rosiepuff, but there are at least a few pictures.” He pulled the lid off, shifting around the contents before pulling out a small stack of pictures tied together with string. He untied it carefully, flipping through the photos before pulling a few out. “There we are.”

  
Poppy took them, looking fondly down at them. “Oh, Dad, they’re perfect. Thank you!”

  
“Go ahead and take them to him.”

  
“But what about the rest?” She asked, gesturing to the room.

  
“We have all the time in the world to sort through all of this. I think Branch needs you right now.”

  
She nodded, standing and clutching the photos tight to her chest. “Thanks, Dad.”

  
“Go on now. I’ll see you later.”

  
“Okay.” She gave him one last grateful look before dashing off.

 

* * *

 

Branch worked tirelessly all day, and while he managed to save most of his clothes and furniture, almost all of his supplies and personal items were completely ruined. And his bunker...he hardly figured it was worth trying to drain it. The place would just flood again. He’d have to figure something else out.

  
When Poppy found him, he was sitting in the sun, grumbling as he combed the dirt out of his hair. Her eyes fell on the on the few invitations and journals he managed to save where they lay, drying out. At least he had been able to save a few. She knew how important his books were.

  
“Hey, Branch?” She asked tentatively.

  
He turned, his eyes widening a bit. He sighed, looking embarrassed for a moment before standing and walking to meet her. “Hey Poppy...”

  
He paused, collecting his thoughts, “Look, I’m sorry about earlier, I was just stressed out. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  
She gave him an understanding smile, “It’s okay, Branch. I get it. I’d be upset too if my house flooded.”

  
He looked down, still visibly uncomfortable, so she continued, “Anyway, I have something for you.”

  
He looked up. “What?”

  
She handed him the book, and he eyed it suspiciously. It was undecorated and small, only a few pages long. “This isn’t going to douse me in glitter, is it? That stuff takes forever to get off.”

  
She laughed, “No, it’s not. Just open it, okay? I promise you’ll like it.”

  
He still seemed unsure, but he opened the cover, reading the first page. It was a note, the pink, swirly handwriting clearly Poppy’s. “For Branch.” He read, “From Poppy.”

  
She grinned, clearly excited. “Come on, go to the next page.”

  
“Okay, okay.” He flipped the page, and his breath caught in his throat. The picture he thought was ruined was carefully placed there, it’s color still runny and blurry, but it had been touched up just enough to make the image of his smiling grandmother visible. His voice was heavy with disbelief. “...Poppy...how did you...?”

  
“Biggie did it. He’s really good with pictures. I know it’s not perfect but I thought...well, you were so upset, I figured I would try to help.”

  
He looked up at her, his eyes watery, “Thank you, Poppy--really.”

  
“That’s not even the best part! Quick, look on the next page.”

  
He obliged, his eyes glancing over the next few pictures. They were slightly yellowed with age, but the images were clear. “What are these?”

  
“Here, look!” She slid up next to him and pointed to the first one, a landscape shot filled with trolls. “This was taken before we escaped the tree. These are all children who lost their parents to Trollstice. And,” she pointed to the back where an older troll stood, the only adult in the picture. Branch narrowed his eyes, she looked familiar. “That is your grandmother.”

  
“What?” He asked, pulling the book closer.

  
“Yeah! She took care of the kids who didn’t have anywhere else to go back then. See?” It hit Branch all at once, the puffy green hair and the kind, familiar smile. It was her.

  
He couldn't believe it, stuttering in shock, “I didn’t...”

  
“The next two are similar to the first one, but she’s somewhere in each. And...I think...yes!” She pointed at another, where his grandma was standing again in the back, holding a tiny blue baby troll.

  
“That’s you!” Poppy laughed, “You were so cute.” He gave her an incredulous look and she feigned innocence before flipping to the next page.

  
“Anyway, this one’s the best.”

  
Branch gazed at the picture in disbelief before a smile spread across his face as the fond memory of the night it was taken flooded over him. It had been before one of the school’s many, many talent shows, when some troll or another was taking shots of all of the performers. A younger version of himself, still bright blue and smiling stood next to his Grandma, who was mirroring his enthusiasm. He could hardly recall what song he had sung or much else about the night, but he did remember Grandma’s proud smile, how hard she had hugged him after the show, and how happy he had felt.

  
He shook his head, letting the memory fade and turning back to Poppy. “Where did you get these?”

  
She shrugged shyly, stepping back a little. “Well, I felt really bad about your picture getting ruined, so I asked my dad if he had any old pictures from before we left the tree, and he did. Actually, it turns out there is a whole room full of the old stuff in the tree tunnels--but, that's beside the point. These were the only ones of her, and I figured you should have them, so here they are.”

  
Branch didn’t say anything, looking back down at the pictures again, his face unreadable.

  
“Branch?”

  
Suddenly, he closed the book and pulled her close against him. She could feel his breath hitch and his shoulders shake. She sighed, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

  
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “Thank you, Poppy.” He squeezed her tighter, letting out a noise that was a mix between a sob and a sigh. “Thank you so much.”

  
She smiled, burying her face against his shoulder. “Of course.”

 

* * *

 

Branch ended up sleeping at her house, given that his was still several feet underwater.

  
That night, after dinner and several mugs of hot chocolate, they cuddled together on her couch. And for the second time in her life, Branch told her about his grandmother. About her kindness, her warm smile and her laugh. How he never remembered his parents, so his grandmother was his only family. How she meant everything to him. How much he missed her.

  
And all the while she held his hand, nodded when he paused and smiled when he looked at her. Branch’s heart was, after all, a guarded place. Twenty years of being alone and decades of emotional hurt and denial will do that to a person, and just like his singing, Poppy held those glimpses of his true feelings dear. She often felt her own heart flutter at the thought that she was the one he chose to share them with, so she would be there when he was ready to talk, and she would listen as long as he needed.

  
And at last, when he was done and would give her that tired, relieved, content look she couldn’t stop herself from hugging him tight and kissing his cheek. Not-so-secretly enjoying the blush that would bloom across his face from the contact.

  
Because to her, Branch was better than singing. He was better than dancing. He was better than rain and sunshine and scrapbooks and chocolate-vanilla ice cream. He was the best part of her life, and she knew she would do anything to make him happy. He had spent too long sad and alone. Far too long.

  
“Branch?” She asked quietly, long after the lights had dimmed and they both had stopped talking.

  
“Yeah?” He replied, his voice just as soft.

  
“I love you.”

  
That blush she loved spread across his face, and she cuddled closer to him so she could feel his chest rumble and his heart race when he spoke, “I love you too, Poppy.”


End file.
